


Axel

by evening_coffee



Category: Original Work, Starfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Aliens, Androids, Isolation, Original Character(s), Psychological Trauma, Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23970292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evening_coffee/pseuds/evening_coffee
Summary: After being isolated for several years, a young boy is faced with the death of his only companion. This separation causes him to reflect on his situation as he struggles to find help for himself, while others try to make him recognize his own humanity.





	1. Pulse

I wake up dizzy, look at the clock, and slowly process that I’ve slept for fourteen hours; much longer than she usually lets me. 

I slowly creep downstairs in the static, silent house. It’s so horrifically quiet that I’m sure we must be alone; I won’t be seen. 

Turning the corner, I see her lying on the floor. Her silver hair and purple dress both spread across the tile beneath her.

I speed up slightly. She might be hurt. I should help her. 

“Ms. Hana.” I say, keeping my voice soft to avoid being heard by any passerby who may be in the area. “Ms. Hana, are you alright?” 

Silence. 

I creep up to where she lies, “Ms. Hana?” Slightly louder now, but barely above a whisper. No response. 

My hand is shaking slightly as I turn her over. She remains silent, and her body is slack. She must be hurt very badly. Something in my chest imitates a dull ache. Her eyes are closed. She doesn’t respond when I touch her. 

My throat suddenly feels stuck. _I need someone to come and find her._

I can’t tell anyone. 

_She’ll wake up eventually, and then I’ll tell her she should call for help._

I sit in one of the living room chairs and watch her. 

Four hours pass. 

The imitation of the ache gets stronger. 

I approach again, “Ms. Hana, you’re hurt. Please get up. You need to tell someone.” 

No response. 

My entire body starts shaking. I don’t think I like it. 

I kneel next to her as another sixty minutes pass by. The realization is starting to sink into me. I don’t think it feels good. 

I don’t want to touch her anymore, but just to make sure, I place my fingers on her wrist and wait for the gentle feeling of blood pulsing through her veins. 

There’s no pulse. 

My chest seems to be expanding invisibly. My legs don’t move the way I want them to. 

So, I sit for another hour as my artificial mind tries to find a way out. _I need to help her. I’m alone. There’s no one here. I don’t know what to do._

_I have to tell somebody. I can’t get in trouble because she’s d̴͚̱͈̞̟͕̲̼̾̔̾̈̿̾̿͗͑̓̒̑ͅȩ̵͔̪̟̰̖̄̒͛a̴̢̜̜͓̦̒̇̇̿̾̽̌̏͌͐d̵̨̡̫͇̜͈͚̙̳̃._

I struggle to stand, but I eventually make my way over to the other side of the living room to pick up her data pad. 

My fingers are trembling so much that I can barely punch the number in, but I do. I’m still shaking. 

“What’s your emergency?” The man’s voice is loud. The data pad is pressed to my ear, and it’s been a very long time since I’ve heard a voice other than Ms. Hana’s so close. They’re usually muffled behind the walls. 

_“_ Hello? Are you still on the line?” The man says. I realize that I’m supposed to talk now, but my throat seems to be shut. _What words do I use? How do I say it?_

_“_ Ummmm ...we need help. I---” I think I’m talking too slowly. “Ms. Hana’s heart stopped beating.” _Did I say it right? Does he know what I mean?_

There’s a brief pause, but then the man speaks again. “It’s okay, don’t worry, we’ve got your location from your data pad. We’re going to send an ambulance over, okay?” I nod in response. The man is silent for some reason. 

“...Hello? Are you still with me?” He says after a while. “Yes,” I say. _What do I do now?_

“Can you tell me what happened?” 

“I came downstairs, and her heart wasn’t beating.” 

“...Okay.” I think his voice is soothing. “Do you know anything else?” 

“Six hours have passed.” 

“Since you found her?” 

“Yes.” 

I hear the sound of keys on a keyboard. It’s gentle; far away. After a few of those clicks and clacks, the man speaks again. “Is there anything else you can tell me?” 

“No,” I speak flatly, not wanting to reveal quite yet that I think I’m breaking. My body seems separate from me, and I hear ringing that I know isn’t real. The area behind my face is imitating the sensation of burning. _She’s not here, so my body doesn’t know what to do..._

“...It’s okay, don’t worry—” 

“No worry.” _That didn’t come out right._

There’s another brief pause. “You said her name is Hana; we’ve traced your call to Hana Dane’s residence, is that correct?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’m going to keep talking to you for a little bit, is that okay?” 

“No.” The cavity inside of my chest is starting to intake and expel air much faster than it normally does. It’s a habit; I don’t need the oxygen, but the rhythmic pattern of airflow is something that instinctually occurs when my body or neural circuits are experiencing pressure. It’s normally slow, but at the moment it feels erratic. Loud. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Can you tell me your name?” 

“No.” _I shouldn’t tell him. I should hide. This was a mistake. This is wrong._

_“_ It’s alright. I know you’re scared right now, and that’s okay.” 

“I’m not scared. Android.” 

“...What?” 

“Can’t be scared, android.” _I’m not saying it right._ I’m starting to get dizzy; the burning sensation is getting worse. I should tell him. “I think I’m breaking.” 

The pause is much, much longer than before. “...You sound........how old are you?” 

“Thirty-four years old.” 

Another very long pause. “Can you please tell me your name?” I no longer think his voice sounds soothing. 

I’m struggling to make my mouth work. I’m going to break. “My name is Axel Dane.” 

“Alright, hold on.” He cuts off suddenly, and I can hear the frantic typing of a keyboard and other voices, but they sound distant through the data pad. The burning behind my face is bad. My arms aren’t steady. 

“Okay, Axel, when did you get back to your mom’s house?” This voice is different, and it’s not soothing at all. 

“I--I uh...” My mouth won’t make the right words. I can’t stop shaking. It burns. "My mom?” 

The burning sensation is unbearable now. My mind is showing me disjointed images; hugs, laughing, dinners with all three of us... 

“My...my father died.” I’m forcing air in and out of the hole in my chest so violently that it feels as though it will explode. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Is that why you ran away?” 

“I-- I didn’t...” _There aren’t any words. I don’t know what to say._ “I’m...breaking...please help...” 

“Okay, we’re going to send help--” 

“I’m breaking,” _I’m alone. M̵̦̙͌̒y̵̱̏̓̏̅ ̴͕͉̖̤̎͆ḋ̵̜̅͐̑ä̸̲́d̵̢̡̼͐̇ ̶̛̙̼́̃d̸͔̹̲̀̅̾_ _i_ _̸̡͖͗̍̋͘è̷̡͎̂d̴̞̦̉̾,̶̢̳̱̣͌̑̈͂ ̵̗̲͇̆̇m̷̰͚͎͗̎̾̽y̷̞̍̃ ̷̬͍̣̾̈́m̶̧͇̠̪̌̄ȍ̵̪̣̞̚͜͝m̶͇̣̞͊̊'̵̦̠͌̉͂̓s̸̪̫͒̃͂͝ ̸̨̱̤̐̽͐͘d̸͉̼̖̍̈́͝ẻ̸̛͖̗͕̋̂ǎ̶̤̺d̴͎͂. ̸̛̳̂͌. There’s no one left._

_“_ Please...please help me.” I clutch the data pad as hard as I possibly can. _If I let go, I’m alone._

The air is moving too fast. 

“It’s okay, Axel. Help is coming. Just keep talking to me—” 

“I’m brEAKING!” I’m speaking too loudly, but I need him to hear me; I need him to know I’m here, and I need him to understand. The burning is too much. _How do I describe it? There are no words._

_“_ ...Pain.” _Does he understand?_

“I know you're confused right now, but you’re going to be okay.” 

“No! PAIN!” _He doesn’t understand! Why won’t he understand?!_ “PAIN! I’M IN PAIN! PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN!” 

I think I’m screaming. I need to, though. I need to scream so he can hear me. 

My father’s in the ground; I watched them put him there. Now they’re going to put my mother in the ground too... 

The image is like a hammer smashing against my head. I clutch the data pad harder. _Please don’t leave me please don’t leave me please don’t leave me._

_“_ Hey hey hey don’t worry! The ambulance is almost there.” I think he wants me to stop screaming, but I can’t. I can hear myself through the ringing that isn’t real. I’m not making words anymore, it’s just a grotesque sound halted and cut by bursts of air. 

“PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME! HELP! EVERYTHING HURTS!” I force the words out, even though doing it makes the fake pain worse. _Please don’t hang up! Please stay!_

I hear a faint crack, a burst of static, and then my fingers push on something sharp. 

His voice is gone. 

I’m making a noise I’ve never heard myself make. It’s ugly and loud and the sound is making the pain sharper. Harder. _It burns! I’m on fire! I’m on fire!”_

“MOM!” I run to her body, but my legs stop working halfway there. I have to use my arms to pull myself to her. I grab her by the shoulders without really meaning to. It’s like my body is moving on its own. She feels brittle, small, fragile, and limp beneath my fingers. 

“MOM, YOU HAVE TO WAKE UP! PLEASE! I DID SOMETHING BAD! MOM I’M BREAKING! I’M ON FIRE! PLEASE HELP ME!” 

My head feels as if it’s swelling. The disjointed images of my f̸̟͛a̶̳͒͐m̶̹͐̈́i̸͔͙̋l̸̼̻̒y̴͓̩̺͆̾ are being pushed and pulled by other images; ropes, hands around my neck, needles... 

“Mom........” I press my face against her chest. Her dress doesn’t catch fire. 

_The fire isn’t real. None of this is real. There is no pain._

There’s a bright light that streaks across my vision, and then it tunnels into total darkness. 

I go numb. The pain goes away. 


	2. An Unfamiliar Ceiling

I open my eyes. My head feels swollen, like it would topple over if I wasn’t lying down.

The swelling sensation gets worse as I look up at the ceiling.  _ The lights...they’re too bright. _

It happens slowly, but I’m starting to notice that something’s wrong. The ceiling is white and appears to be made of large  synthetic tiles, and the lights are built seamlessly into it. If I shift my gaze, I can see white cupboards and drawers on the opposite side of the room, as well as rails on my bed, and a blue sheet on top of me.

_ I don’t know this ceiling.  _ It’s almost hard to hear my own thoughts over the artificial white noise inside of my head.  _ I’m not in my house. I shouldn’t be here. _

The sound of a door opening grabs my attention, and I turn my head to face the noise.

A woman wearing white enters my room. She’s a  damaya lashunta with pale blue skin and bright green eyes that are currently locked onto a tablet. As she draws closer and tilts her head up, I can see the luminescent lines that define her cheekbones, the subtle lowlights of purple in her snow-white hair, and the assorted variety of pens and pins sticking out of her coat pocket.

_ She’s beautiful...but I have to run away. _

Seeing another face in the flesh is overwhelming; for reasons I don’t understand, I feel a need to run to her, embrace her, and cling to her body tightly so she can’t leave me until I let her go. But of course, I realize how foolish that would be. Something in my mind must be breaking—

_ “I’m breaking!” She’s dead she’s dead she’s dead she’s dead— _

The air around me suddenly feels violent, and something deep within me imitates a throbbing sensation.

The  lashunta rushes to my side, sets her tablet on the bedside table, and places her hand on top of my chest. I recoil and fight my desire to get closer to her, but as I try to yell in protest, I find my throat won’t produce the words. I feel locked; frozen. Words and language feel like some distant concept that won’t help me right now. Everything is falling to pieces.

“Axel, you don’t have to worry about that stuff right now, okay?” Her voice is soft, calming, charming...but still, her words confuse me. I look up at her, staring at her face as if it will somehow provide an answer. Her  antennae are glowing slightly at the tips, and she offers me a warm smile. “I’m reading your thoughts right now, but if you want me to stop, I will, unless I view you as a danger to yourself or others. Do you understand?”

I do. I don’t want her to know what I’m thinking, but at the same time, I still can't speak, and a dark, looming sensation sweeps over me when I remember that I can’t get in trouble for being seen. 

She nods. “Don’t worry, it’s not weird for you to struggle with talking right now. We’ve already scanned you, and nothing about your software is  malfunctioning , and none of your internal hardware is damaged. The biological cells in your organs also seem to be functioning just fine.” She gently raises her hand away from my chest. “We think you may have had a traumatic experience, so some more doctors are going to come in and talk to you, alright?”

I shake my head back and forth, but I think it’s moving  too fast to look natural.  _ I don’t want to talk to anybody. I don’t know what to say. _

She nods sympathetically. “I understand. But we need more information about what happened. The other doctors are  lashunta too, so you won’t have to talk out loud unless you want to.” She nods again, but this time it looks like a gesture requiring a response.

I shake my head. She looks disappointed. “I’m very sorry that this is happening, but trust me, there’s no need to worry.” She sighs, and sits down on the chair beside the bed.

I close my eyes, feeling both trapped and... weirdly liberated. This room smells different from my home, and breathing it in seems clean and refreshing. Behind my eyelids, I’m still looking at the  lashunta . Seeing another face, another body, and hearing another voice makes this whole experience feel like a dream.

I feel her hand rubbing itself up and down my arm. “Do you dream a lot, Axel?”

_ Not really... _ any visions that come to me during the night aren’t really  coherent . It’s more like a collection of shapes and  colors and concepts. Besides, I shouldn’t even call it ‘dreaming.’ It’s just an influx of data that produces images when I’m powered down.

I hear the door slide open, and shut my eyes even tighter.

“Hey  hey hey, how are we doing today?” The man’s voice is loud and sing-songy. I don’t think I like it.

I open my eyes to see the speaker/singer. Before me stands another  lashunta ; a  korasha . He’s shorter than the damaya, and his skin is a dark shade of green. His brown hair is well kept and styled; swept to the side and combed to appear smooth and polished. His eyes are a deep amber, and below them are his broad nose and masculine jawline, the latter of which is speckled with trimmed stubble. He, like the damaya, is dressed in white from head to toe.

“Doctor  Somel , pleased to meet you!” His smile is huge, and he sticks his right hand past the  damaya , offering me a handshake.

That urge is back again. I want to grab his hand and squeeze. I want to hold something. 

The  damaya has stopped rubbing my arm. I miss it.

After about two seconds, Doctor  Somel puts his hand down, and his smile shifts from large and welcoming to kind and gentle.

The  damaya rubs my arm again. I see the name 'Doctor  Veia ’ written on the pin over her breast pocket.

“So,” Doctor  Somel began, “we just have a few questions for you about what happened, and then we’ve got some stuff to figure out, okay?” He looks at me with his eyebrows raised. His voice is loud, but not unpleasant, and he’s still smiling as grabs the tablet from the bedside table.

I glance back and forth between him and Doctor  Veia , then nod slowly.  _ But I’m not supposed to talk to you. Please don’t tell anyone.  _ I know they’re both reading my mind right now; I don’t have to say what I’m thinking.

Doctor  Veia glances up at Doctor  Somel , and her antennae light up in a paler color for a few seconds. He looks back at her, nods, and then shifts his gaze back to me. “Okee  dokee . Let’s get started.” He grabs a stylus from the inside of his pocket, and then spins it around in his fingers before pressing it to the tablet. “When did you arrive at Hana Dane’s residence?”

_ Rova 19 _ _ th _ _ , 160 AG. _

Doctor  Somel doesn’t change his expression, and his stylus remains poised on top of the tablet, unmoving. “Alright, excellent. But you went missing for a long time, yeah? Maybe I was asking the wrong questions...” his smile fades, and as a result the mood of his entire being switches from joyful to professional. “Can you tell me where you went after Arodus 9 th , 164 AG?”

_ Nowhere _ _ ,  _ I think, and I regret doing so immediately.  _ Nobody’s supposed to know I’m here. It’s supposed to be a secret. _

Doctor  Somel’s antennae perk up a bit as he begins whisking his stylus across the tablet. “You went nowhere? So, you never left Hana Dane’s home?”

_ I never went anywhere. Please don’t tell anyone.  _ My circumstances are catching up with me. I was never supposed to be in this position. It hadn’t for a moment occurred to me that while she was aging, I was  remaining the same; that she would die and I would still be alive.  _ What do I do now? _

The stylus’s speed is increasing as it writes words I cannot see. “So, you’ve been in that house this whole time...” his once booming voice now speaks softly. Something seems to have drained the sugary cheer that entered the room with him, but I can’t pinpoint what it is. He looks up at me, and focuses directly on my eyes. “I know you think that it’s supposed to be a secret, but you don’t have to worry about that. No one is mad at you; we’re just trying to put all of the pieces together, yeah? So, keeping that in mind, can you please tell me why you pretended to run away, and why your mom kept it a secret?”

_ I didn’t pretend to run away!  _ The room seems to be filling with pressure, threatening to crush me if this continues. I can feel Doctor  Veia pushing harder on my arm and shoulder.  _ I was just doing my job! I’m a robot! I was her robot! I didn’t need to do anything else! _

“Alright,” Doctor  Somel’s voice remains perfectly calm, and I can’t tell if I find that helpful or distressing, “What was part of ‘your job?’”

_ Normal stuff! Cooking and cleaning! And when I wasn’t  _ _ working, _ _ I would power down... _ the questions that he’s asking are stupid, and as I come to that realization, something else occurs to me.

_ This is a hospital. _

“ Correct, ” he responds.

_ Why am I in a hospital?  _

Doctor  Somel draws in a sharp breath. “You were found unconscious, so you were brought to the synthetic ward for testing. But don’t worry, all of your tests were normal, but you were severely deprived of nutrients, and the emergency call you made had everyone a little concerned. We needed to ask you some questions anyways, so we just kept you at this location for the time being, yeah?” He keeps saying ‘yeah’ as if it’s a question that I’m required to answer. 

Nothing he’s saying is making any sense.

_ I don’t need any of this. I don’t want to be here anymore. _

“ I know t his is confusing, but—”

_ No! You’re the one who’s confused! I don’t need to exist anymore! Putting me in a hospital is just silly! I’m a robot! You can just put me away or—why am I having trouble thinking of the word... d̶͓̬̂̇ȩ̵̗̅̈s̵͈̽t̸̰̀r̸̘̖͒͆o̴̡̪͊ÿ̶̝̟́͐ me. _

_ “ _ Hey there,” Doctor  Somel’s voice rumbles as he sits next to Doctor  Veia . Her arm isn’t moving anymore, but it’s resting firmly upon my shoulder. “You’re not just a robot, alright buddy?”

_ Stop! What am I doing here? Doctor  _ _ Veia _ _ said I’ve been through trauma, but you said my body is fine! That doesn’t make any sense! What are you talking about?! _

Doctor  Somel bites his lip, and Doctor  Veia’s looking at me with what appears to be sadness, or perhaps  disappointment . They look at each other, and their  antennae glow. After a few seconds and a pained expression, Doctor  Somel turns back to me and asks, “Axel...I know you won’t like this question, but can you please tell us what happened after your father died?”

_ WHY DOES IT MATTER?!  _ What’s wrong with these people?! Why are they playing with me like a doll? Why are they treating me like this?

‘What happened after my father died?’ I learned the truth! That’s what happened! He was an idiot! And he was doing the same idiotic thing that  _ these  _ people are doing; playing pretend. Acting like an android is alive just because it simulates the emotional responses of organic beings.  _ Morons. _

But I know better now; all of these sensations that mimic emotions are just advanced puppetry. For years, androids have been falsely recognized as sentient just because they said so, even though their mouths that demand freedom and respect are made of metal and plastic.  _ Idiots. Stupid machines.  _

It took several months for Ms. Hana to admit it. After Pollux died, she sunk into a seemingly endless depression. I assumed I did as well, but I know now that was all simulated responses.

Then one day, she finally turned around and struck me across the face. She did it because at the time, I had been sobbing. Pollux’s death had activated every circuit in my artificial mind that  mimicked the feeling of sadness. Hopelessness. Pain. 

Of course, she couldn’t stand those sounds. She was living through an actual tragedy, and feeling every poisonous drop of misery that fills one’s blood when a loved one dies. Meanwhile, I wept as though I understood what she was going through, which was beyond insulting. How could I have been so foolish? So delusional?  So convinced that what I was ‘feeling’ was anything more than a programmed response?

I’m moving.

The bed beneath me is gliding across the floor. Doctor  Somel is next to me, so Doctor  Veia must be pushing me.  _ Where are you taking me? _

A locked room where I'll be shut down? To a machine that will reset and reprogram me? A s̷̲͐c̷̪̎r̵̲̂a̵̬͑p̴̧͘y̴̬̍a̴̋ ͅr ̵͖̚d̷͍̊?

It feels like a screwdriver is being thrust into my chest, and my head feels heavy and unstable.  _ Please...don’t..... _

“Don’t worry. We’re just taking you to a different room.” Doctor  Somel is speaking with...confidence? No, not confidence. Conviction. “Axel, no one here is going to hurt you.” He emphasizes every word in that sentence, making it sound bizarrely serious.

For reasons I don’t understand, my chest relaxes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help taking the chapter title from NGE; it just fit too well.


	3. Lights, Camera, Stasis

**Qabarat Daily Post**

Neth 13th, 194 AG

**Found, But Never Lost**

_The Enigmatic Android Adolescent Has Resurfaced 30 Years Later_

Thirty years ago, locals were stunned at the disappearance of Axel Dane; a ‘teenager’ that gained interest from the public due to his unusual situation. While Dane behaved and appeared as a fourteen-year-old boy, he was, in fact, an android being cared for by Qabarat locals, Pollux and Hana Dane, both of whom were human. While his origins were mysterious, the couple was allowed to maintain custody of the boy who recognized them as his parents.

However, this already unusual arrangement became even more complicated when the boy went missing shortly after the death of his adoptive father. With no leads, the case was officially dropped after 9 years, with Hana Dane claiming that she had already made peace with Axel’s disappearance.

But now, the case has unexpectedly reopened after a call was made to emergency services yesterday afternoon. That call was made by none other than Axel Dane, who according to the people involved, never truly disappeared.

“I was floored,” said the initial responder, “I could tell I was talking to someone kind of young, you know? So, I’m trying to keep him calm, as you do in these situations, but partway through the call it just kind of clicked. He mentioned that he was an android, which gave me that ‘aha’ moment, ‘cause I kind of remembered hearing about Mrs. Dane and everything she went through at the time.” He continued, “it was kind of sensationalized back in the day, but eventually it almost became an urban legend, so to have it all of a sudden become a real, tangible case again was almost overwhelming.”

The emergency call made by Dane was to report the unresponsive state of his adoptive mother, who passed away yesterday as a result of cardiac arrest.

This story takes an even darker turn, though. After being brought to Qabarat University Hospital’s synthetic ward, Dane was discovered to be severely malnourished, and local doctors say that his mental state is more than a little troubling.

According to Dr. Elijah Somel, “It’s like he’s stuck in the past, and in a time long before his initial creation. He thinks of himself in terms of raw machinery. Even though he’s clearly deeply frightened, he’s also thoroughly convinced that all of his feelings should be ignored, and that he should be treated as though he’s a soulless AI unit.” Somel went on to say, “as it stands, he refuses to even talk to us out loud, instead opting for the continual use of telepathic contact with myself and other lashunta. From what we’ve gathered through reading his mind, it appears that he suffered severe psychological, and perhaps physical, abuse at the hands of his adoptive mother. It’s beyond upsetting to believe that such a lovely woman, and such a respected scientist, could be capable of such cruelty, but that appears to be the case.”

Dane is currently in an undisclosed live-in psychiatric hospital and under close supervision. Somel states, “we’re currently working on assigning him a therapist. Hopefully, we’ll be able to help him open up, and reintegrate into society.”

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**freshtopicforums.cas/thread/synth-horror-stories**

**softmetal 11/14/194**

qabaratdailypost.cas/neth/13/194ag/article/foundbutneverlost

okay, so this story about the android kid might actually be the worst thing I've ever heard.

**symbolic-cats 11/14/194**

Dude, what the actual fuck?

**tryingmybest 11/14/194**

yeah, my friend (android) was talking about it yesterday. he's kind of messed up over it tbh. apparently a lot of synths around asana are calling for protests or something.

**ElfAllyManicure 11/14/194**

I think this is really shining a light on how the whole “RACISM IS OVER” thing is total BS. People really need to wake up to the fact that synth rights are like...relatively new in the grander context of things. If you look into the story more, the kid actually came to Castrovel at THE HEIGHT of the Android Abolition Movement, and yet this was still allowed to happen.

**symbolic-cats 11/14/194**

I mean, I see your point, but I wouldn’t exactly say this was “allowed to happen.” it’s more like no one cared. which is still bad, don’t get me wrong, I'm just saying it sounds kind of complicated.

**ElfAllyManicure 11/14/194**

Okay, sure, but at that point we’re getting pretty pedantic.

**softmetal 11/14/194**

I think the truly tragic thing is that by next week, everyone’s gonna totally forget about this, meanwhile the kid is gonna be bouncing off the walls of a looney bin.

**Stressrule 11/15/194**

unrelated question here; but how do you treat a synth that’s malnourished? like, i know they have living bio-cells, but i thought hospitals usually give you nutrients through IVs or whatever. how does that work for a synth? do they just have to hope that the synth can eat a lot before they die, or is there some other way? (sorry if this sounds dumb. i'm not trying to be racist, i'm just curious)

**ElfAllyManicure 11/15/194**

1) In this context you should say “android” instead of just “synth.” You have to remember the SROs are synths too, and by saying that all synths have bio-components, you’re kind of erasing them from the conversation (not to compare suffering or anything, but typically SROs actually have it worse than androids as far as discrimination goes)

2) I think they just stick a big needle in where the bio-components are. Basically, an IV but faster and more targeted.

**Stressrule 11/16/194**

Y I K E S.

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**freshtopicforums.cas/thread/anti-SJW**

**tubelesscouncil 11/15/194**

qabaratdailypost.cas/neth/13/194ag/article/foundbutneverlost

Great. This is exactly what we need.

**MaxGlorifier 11/15/194**

Uggh. Just when you think that people are finally shutting up, shit like this happens. Now everyone on the freaking planet is on about how “organics suck” and “all synths are innocent precious babies uwu.”

**prideinblood 11/15/194**

RIGHT?! I think that’s the real problem here; like, this mom lady is obviously evil, but people always think that means that all organics are evil, you know? Like, I’m totally for synth equality, but it’s only when synths think that they’re superior to us that gets me. It’s like, do they not see the obvious hypocrisy?

**truthguy420 11/15/194**

okay, you say the mom is evil, but here’s my theory; i don’t think she died of a heart attack i think the kid killed her and now he’s pretending to be all fcked up to make organics look bad and make himself look innocent. synth vs organic situations are always skewed in favor of the synths because the media doesn’t want to look problematic or whatever.

**stray-christopher 11/15/194**

Bruh, I live in Qabarat and I read the moms obituary. She was like 70 when she died, and she went to a hospital like they know it was a heart attack. Don’t make the rest of us look bad by sympathizing with shitty people.

**truthguy420 11/16/194**

What part of “media coverup” do you not understand?

**notallorgs365 11/16/194**

^^^^^^^

**idlydiscrete 11/16/194**

Honestly, people are spinning this like it’s a story about how organics are mean to synths, when really, it’s a story about how organics and synths can’t really form meaningful relationships. I’m not saying that synths are necessarily worse, but I’m just saying they’ve got robot brains. When I say I’m pro-segregation, people assume it’s because I just hate androids, but no. If anything, I’m worried about them AND organics. Things are only going to go wrong if we all sing songs and pretend that we’re all the same. Wake up. We’re not.


	4. Silver Spheres

The nurse guides me to a room at the far end of the hallway. Her hand is on my back so she can gently nudge me in the right direction.

I don’t like it.

I’ve been in this new place for almost two full days, according to the clock sitting in ‘my room.’ The nurse who’s walking with me, Nurse Sale, has been talking me through the whole ‘process.’

‘My room’ is relatively large; much bigger than the one at My House. In theory, I’m encouraged to step outside and explore the rest of the building. Nurse Sale wants me to meet the other people and get a better grasp of what’s going on.

It sounds like torture.

Looking at that clock as the numbers shift from minute to minute is the only thing keeping me grounded. Everything feels so different and fake and scary that simply wandering around feels dangerous. At any moment, I could be grabbed and dragged to a scrap yard, or simply get lost in the sea of strange faces. 

Everyone here is still talking nonsense, but I’m not in any position to disagree with them. Escape feels like a recipe for disaster. I’ll surely get lost and wind up somewhere much worse than here. 

And it’s not like I even feel a need to escape this place. It’s not an unpleasant space, and I don’t get the sense that anyone is out to break me. It only concerns me that everyone here is crazy.

And by ‘everyone,’ I mean the nurses. 

I’ve mostly only spoken to Nurse Sale, or at least, she’s spoken to me. But she and the ones who greeted me are under the same delusion that Doctor Veia and Doctor Somel fell victim to.

The people here think that I’m alive.

But what’s worse is that, when I attempt to correct them, they tell me I’m wrong.

I still find myself unable to speak, but Nurse Sale is a  lashunta , so she can hear me  despite the fact that my throat won’t obey the signals I push towards it. When she hears me state the obvious fact that I’m a machine, she always has some nonsense  rebuttal . The one she’s the most  committed to is the ‘self-preservation’ defence. Apparently, the fact that I don’t wish to be destroyed is supposed to prove that I have genuine desires, and ergo must be alive. This is obviously quite silly. It makes sense that robots would have an impulse to avoid destruction. Otherwise, our  usefulness would be wasted. There’s also the even more obvious fact that androids can ‘feel’ simulated emotions. None of it is real, of course, but these people refuse to recognize that, and I don’t know why.

Nurse Sale and I arrive at a door with the name “Dr. Hadis  Taeova ” written on the frosted glass window. 

Nurse Sale knocks on the door, then turns to smile at me. “You’re really going to like him,” she says. Her voice is like a semi-whisper, and tinged with an excitement that feels at least a little forced.

I hear the turn of the tumblers as the door begins to open, and once it does, I’m faced with another  damaya lashunta. His skin is a shade of faded pink, a feature that makes his emerald eyes almost appear to glow. His brown hair is cut short and clean, revealing the darkened lines that spread from the top of his head down to his cheekbones. In contrast to the nurses, who are all dressed in white, he’s wearing a navy-blue suit, complete with a matching tie and a crisp-collared shirt. 

He towers above me in height, especially with the addition of his antennae, but his thin frame and gentle smile make him seem...soft, I suppose, instead of intimidating. 

“Hello,” he says. His voice is low, but confident, and the soft smile on his lips doesn’t fade. “I’m Dr.  Taeova , pleased to meet you.”

He raises his hand, implicitly requesting a handshake, but I keep my hands at my sides. For some reason, even though I can feel myself yearning for contact, I can’t bring myself to touch anyone. I don’t recoil anymore when the nurses try to guide me, but reaching out on my own sends a signal of distress through my body.

His response is what I’ve come to expect; he lowers his hand, but doesn’t drop his smile. He then nods at Nurse Sale, and extends his left arm towards the inside of the room. “Come in, have a seat.”

Nurse Sale leaves my side, and I follow Dr.  Taeova into his office.

He walks around his desk and sits in his designated chair, then wordlessly motions towards a small couch that sits near the middle of the room. I sit down slowly, not wanting to take my eyes off of him, and once I'm seated, he leans forward and rests his elbows on his desk. He makes eye-contact with me, then says, “I know you probably think this place is very strange, and I understand that you’re having trouble with communication right now, so it’s okay if we don’t talk much today.” 

I nod. 

“I’m still going to keep telepathic contact open, just in case you want to say something to me at any point, but I don’t want you to feel pressured at all. I’m going to talk a little at first, but after that, it’s up to you.”

I nod again. At this point, I’ve become accustomed to the faint tingle in the back of my head that manifests when the  lashunta are reading my thoughts, and I can feel it spreading through my circuits as he speaks. Despite this ability, he and the other  lashunta still speak to me out loud instead of putting their voices inside of my head. I think it’s because they want me to speak out loud as well, and at times I want that too. But I swear, whenever I try to respond with my voice instead of my thoughts, it’s as though all of the words disappear. Even though I have the proper vocabulary to articulate what I’m thinking, every sound and syllable seems useless and meaningless when I try to open my mouth.

He nods in response to me, then reclines back in his chair. “Alright. Excellent.” His voice is gentle, but without the wavering quality that manifests when people try to speak softly. It sounds effortless. Pleasant. “The first thing I want to say is that I’m very sorry for your loss. I heard about your mother and about the phone call you made. I apologize if my colleges haven’t expressed proper condolences, as I’m sure many of them were mostly focused on you. But it sounds like her passing had a very serious impact on you, and I just want you to know that that’s okay, and I understand how badly that must have hurt you.”

I feel frozen, like the words he just said wrapped me in a bind. I can’t think of a proper response because my thoughts become overwhelmed with the image of her lying on the floor. In my head, I try to pick her up, and when I do, I can hear her speak and see her walk. I can see her image perfectly as though she were still alive. I’m still in my house. I’m working.

I’m hungry.

“It can be very painful to fully accept such a tremendous loss,” Dr.  Taeova’s voice eases me back to the present moment, and, in a way, I’m grateful for it. “And I think that’s why you’re having trouble with speech. Talking to other people might make your situation feel more...” he takes a pause, but I can’t tell if it’s because he’s looking for the right word, or if he’s just trying to hunt for my reaction, “...tangible. Or maybe you’re just nervous around other people right now, after being alone for so long.”

_ It’s fine. I don’t need other people.  _

He nods very slowly, then says “I think that might be part of the problem. I’ve been told that you’ve been quick to dismiss your own needs.” He leans back in his chair even further, pressing his entire back against it. “Can you tell me why that is?”

_ Can it!  _ I find myself flinching back a bit; having startled myself with my own intensity. After only a second, I straighten myself out and continue organizing my thoughts as  coherently as I can.  _ I’m a robot. Please stop treating me this way.  _

For the first time, Dr.  Taeova drops his smile, but slowly. I wouldn’t even call his expression ‘concerned.’ At the moment, he looks curious...or perhaps  dissatisfied . Troubled?  Disappointed ? 

“Okay,” he speaks slowly, “how would you like me to treat you then?”

_ It doesn’t matter! Do whatever you want! _

He  purses his lips and nods while pressing his fingers together. “Well, thank you for taking my feelings into account. But I, personally, would like to treat you as though you were a person.” He leans forward again, and says “how does that make you feel?”

For some reason, his question makes me crave violence. I want to hit him, but I also want to hold him.

Instead, I do nothing, and make no attempt to gather my thoughts into a response.

“That’s okay. I’m sorry that my question upset you.” He smiles again, then swivels his chair slightly so he’s facing the bookshelf that sits to his right. He grabs a book from one of the middle shelves, places it in his lap, then turns back to face me. “Do you read at all, Axel?” His tone is very casual, as if the minor confrontation never happened.

_ Yes _ , I say, even though I would have preferred not to respond. That’s the tricky thing about mind reading; there are no secrets, and there is no filter. But it’s true, I read quite a lot, actually. There was a bookshelf in my room that was packed to the brim. A large majority of them were fiction, and usually fell into the genres of horror or action, with a few outliers that focused on romance or fantasy. There were also a few books about cars, spaceships, physics, and engineering. All of those had once belonged to my f̵̔ͅa̶͙̔t̵̛̰h̴͓e̴͙̍r̵͎̈, but I’d gathered them after his d̸̽ͅe̵̳͒â̶̟t̴̥̎h̸͓͆. I’ve read every book on that shelf multiple times.

“Glad to hear it,” Dr.  Taeova says with an oddly cheery tone. “Would you like to borrow anything for the remainder of our time?” He gestures towards the shelf, and I shake my head. “That’s alright,” he says as he turns back to the bookshelf. In a smooth motion, he puts his chosen book back, then pulls out a different one. “I’ve said all I’ve needed to say so far, so if you have no further comments, we can pass the rest of the hour in silence.”

I nod. I’ve only been in this office for a few minutes, and I’m already exhausted.

“Perfect,” he says. He then reaches under his desk, and I hear the sound of an opening drawer. After a second, his hand emerges holding a small contraption. It looks like a transparent cage, and inside of it, five silver balls appear to be floating side-by-side in a perfect line. As he places it on his desk, I get a closer look and realize that the balls are being suspended by very thin wires. Each one is the size of a one credit coin, and they shine so brightly that I can see my reflection in them as Dr.  Taeova pushes the cage in my direction.

“This is a Luther’s Cradle,” he explains. “It’s an updated version of a pre-gap invention. The little spheres bounce back and forth, propelled by only velocity and kinetic energy. All it takes is a little start...” he presses a small button on the base of the cage, causing one of the spheres to momentarily swing upwards before crashing back into the other four. Upon impact, the sphere at the opposite end of the cradle bounces upwards, and the cycle starts to repeat. A rhythmic clicking and clacking rings through the office as the little spheres strike each other. “Some people find it relaxing,” Dr.  Taeova continues, “so I’m going to let it run for the time being. Remember, if you want to talk to me at any point, don’t hesitate to do so.” And with that, he smiles, and opens his book.

I find myself trapped in the ensuing quiet, with nothing but the ticking of the spheres ringing through the silence. I can still feel Dr.  Taeova’s presence in the back of my head, but he doesn’t try to pry anything else out of me, instead opting to focus on his book. From where I’m seated, I see that the cover is white and imageless, with the title written in large silver letters.  _ The Synthetic Psyche; Understanding Love and Hate,  _ and below the title, “Peace-7" is written in a much smaller font.

I’ve never heard of it.

I tilt my head slightly, attempting to read the description on the back of the cover. This task proves to be more difficult than it should be, as three of doctor’s fingers are obscuring the text. All I can see is: “ After experiencing devastating poverty and brutal discrimination, Peace-7 dedicated their life to......................ough  education , activism, and tough love, the now famous psychiatrist has..............androids and  sentient- robotic-organisms into the conversation about living things......open letter to both synthetic and organic lifeforms.”

_ What the fuck? _

I can only guess it’s more sentimental drivel about androids being forcibly shoehorned into society. At first, thinking about it brings back that craving for violence, but that sensation is slowly replaced by something else. I think it’s something resembling ‘fear,’ but that label still doesn’t seem quite right...

I rip my gaze away from the book, and instead focus on the couch beneath me. The fabric around the cushions is white, and when I look closely, I can see the tiny areas where the material has begun to pill. For no reason at all, I rub both of my hands against the cushion very slowly, taking the time to feel out every loose bit of fuzz or tiny tear.

There’s no clock in the room, and I have no idea how much time has passed.

So, I keep feeling the couch, and looking around the office. The walls, the bookshelf, the desk, the floor...I find myself fixating on every surface one at a time as though I’m studying them. Maybe I  _ am  _ studying them. And through the entire process, the clicking of the spheres continues to fill the room.

_ Are they getting louder? _

This shouldn’t be the case. I’m familiar enough with the science behind the device to know the sounds should be consistent, but after looking at every other spot in the room, I find myself staring at the cradle.

The sound is so repetitive and pervasive that it begins to seem internal; like the spheres are completely silent, and the clicks and clacks are a noise being produced by my mind in rhythm with each precise strike. If I lean in a bit closer, I can get a better look at my reflection in them. Since the surface is curved, my image looks distorted, but it’s still recognizably ‘me.’ My black hair still covers my forehead, but its volume shifts in such a way that its proportion to the gray of my skin is  strange and inconsistent. The only real pop of color on my face comes from my eyes, both of which contain dark blue irises that are notably larger than those of most organic humanoids, and which are currently growing and shrinking one at a time with the rhythm of the cradle. Most of my circuits aren’t visible in the warped image, but the white ones on my neck peak out slightly from behind my violet shirt, though they all but  disappear when the lower half of my reflection shrinks. The little images of me, twisted as they are, bounce back and forth with the movement of the spheres, and as they do, they morph in their distortions. The lighting, the angles, and the very process of movement cause my tiny portraits to become more and less recognizable as reflections, and I find myself utterly captivated with these moving images. The different versions of me look as though they’re made of fluid, and all of them are staring at me. They can’t perceive me, though. Not just because they’re inanimate reflections, but also because of the wall of the cage...

A sudden  _ thud  _ breaks my concentration, and I quickly straighten my back. I hadn’t realized I’d been staring so closely at the cradle, but upon moving, I realize that my nose was mere inches from it.

The ‘thud’ I heard was the sound of Dr.  Taeova closing his book. I stare at him, and for some reason the sensation of shame courses through my body. 

The doctor is smiling, and simply says, “your hour is up. You can leave now, if you like.” His voice is cheerful, and somehow makes the shame sink in even deeper.

I don’t even try to collect my thoughts into a response. I just want to leav—

“Wait,” he  interrupts my intentions before I even have the chance to stand up. “Before you leave, I want you to take this with you.” He holds the book he was reading, then reaches over his desk to hand it to me. “I think you’ll enjoy it. Plus, it’ll give you something to do before we see each other tomorrow.” He bobs his hand up and down as a secondary invitation to take the book away from him.

_ I. _ _.. I _ _ don’t want it. _

“Oh, you don’t have to read it if you don’t want to, but I would really like for you to take it, just in case you change your mind.” He winks at me, and I realize that he’s not going to let me leave the room without the book.

Well, he might, but ignoring him would only prolong this  interaction .

I grab the book quickly while trying to avoid  contact with his hands. Once it’s in my grasp, I use both of my arms to hold it next to my chest. I don’t want to look at it.

“Excellent. Thank you very much for your time, Axel. I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow.”

_ Why does he sound so happy? _

As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I remember that he’s still listening. Before he can say anything in response, I rush out of the office and shut the door behind me.

I lean against the door for a few seconds, but once the presence of his psychic power leaves my mind, I step away and begin walking back to my room.

************

“I’ve marked some sections that I think you’ll find interesting  😊 " is written on a pink sticky note on the title page of  _ The Synthetic Psyche; Understanding Love and Hate.  _ And indeed, there are several other pink notes sticking out of the top, acting as little bookmarks that Dr.  Taeova placed there for me.

_ But when? _

I had been in that office the whole time, and at no point do I remember him fiddling with sticky notes or even putting his book down.

That being said, I don’t even remember being in that office for a whole hour. Based on the clock in my room and the setting of the sun, the time he stated was accurate, but it only felt like  _ maybe  _ twenty minutes had passed. 

... _ How long was I staring at the cradle? _

The hours of the day continue to pass by. Nurse Sale talks to me, and seems disappointed when I tell her I don’t like Dr.  Taeova , but I know that doesn’t really matter. I’m going to have to see him tomorrow anyways.

Night rolls around, and I head to the washroom to get ready for bed. While flossing the food out of my teeth, I’m overcome by...something.

I. .. honestly don’t know if there’s a word for it.

I look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, and for once, really take the time to examine it. My hair, my skin, the circuits on my arms and neck, and my eyes.

There’s something about my eyes.

The dark blue circles stare back at me as I stare at them. They’re looking for something; studying me as though they’re trying to see through me. Past my face, past my body, there’s something inside of me that they want to see, but they can’t. I won’t let them.

I pull back so the eyes in the mirror are no longer staring so closely. To tear their gaze away, I have to focus on different aspects of the reflection. My face is slightly rounded, and proportioned in a way that mimics the shape of most young humans. My arms, as well as my legs, are quite thin, and the only features on them that truly look inhuman are those white circuits that twist in a series of sharp angles. If I step back far enough, I can see almost all of me, including the red pyjamas that the nurses lent me. Everyone in. .. wherever this is, is encouraged to wear their own clothes, but I refused to wear anything from My House. So, instead of giving me a uniform, I was provided with a small wardrobe, with most of the clothes being much too large for me. That includes these night clothes, which consist of a large pair of shorts with a drawstring, and a red T-shirt that hangs off of me, making me appear thinner than I already am.

Looking at myself, I can’t help but notice that my reflection is steady now that it’s no longer inside of the cage.


End file.
